


After the War

by Milotzi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Animal Death, Canon Divergence - Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Post-War, Reconciliation, Romance, Survival, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-04-19 07:03:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14231877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milotzi/pseuds/Milotzi
Summary: The war has ended; Severus has gone into hiding only to be found by a former friend.





	1. Words of Warning

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by memories of my wonderful grandmother's lovely cat and the poor unfortunate (deceased) mole with beautiful shiny black fur that cat gifted to my 6-year old self.
> 
> Also inspired by the fictional world created by JKR and the great HP fanwork out there. This would not have been written without me being an avid fan of both.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words of warning to potential readers.

If you think that wars, magic or muggle, are grand affairs, if you enjoy tales of good overcoming evil or if you believe in valiant heroes always defeating cowardly villains, this is not the right story for you. Especially not if you expect the aftermath of the great battle to be a clean happy ending with the virtuous (and maybe the reformed) living in plenty and joy happily ever after in a world from which all bad things have been vanquished. Maybe this tale will have a happy ending and maybe not. But what you should be quite clear about is that the war was a dark and messy affair. While even the greatest dunderhead can see that the leader, the aims and the methods of the losing side were simply evil and had to be fought, the issue is less black and white when it comes to the individual witches and wizards who were doing the fighting on either side. Those who espoused the evil cause weren't evil in all aspects of their lives. Even a Bellatrix loved her sister, just to give you one example. More importantly, those who fought what was so clearly evil weren't all good through and through. And neither were their methods, or the way they treated each other. So when the war was over and the wizarding world realized they had, once again, escaped a great disaster, the survivors tended to be the same kind of people people always are, maybe sadder, madder, worse or better than before, but hardly ever only one thing. And, frankly, that makes them more interesting to read about in my book. After all, none of us are only one of these, are we? 

No one is a better example of this than the former teacher, headmaster, spy, murderer, traitor and survivor against all odds, Severus Snape. Even if it turned out that he wasn't the evil bastard people took him for, do you really believe all that bitterness, bullying, jealousy and the occasional sheer nastiness he showed were all part of a facade and just disappeared? If so, you'd be wrong. In his nearly forty years there had been too much violence, too much thwarted ambition and too much disappointed love to have left him unscathed. But neither should his loyalty to people he saw as friends, his dry wit and his ability to turn his life around when all seemed lost be forgotten. Or the fact that, while his teaching was not for the less than brilliant or the faint-hearted, he was at all times a brilliant potioneer. Which, if you excuse the Gryffindor reference, was a slightly double-edged sword when it came to character reference. As a quick look at the required potions ingredients reveals, anyone doing even first year level potions magic has to be able to stand the thought of working not only with all sorts of plants but also with dead animal parts. And while the advance of magic civilization has meant that many a young wizard has believed the powdered dragon heart and the dried rat tails they bought at _The Apothecary's_ in Diagon Alley to be plant products and the names some kind of metaphor, real potioneers not only know better but prefer to collect, "harvest" and prepare as many of their own ingredients as possible. And Severus Snape might not have been the real thing when it came to villainy and treason but he always had been, was and would be a true potioneer. 

So what about Minerva McGonagall, the other survivor of personal and historical disasters you will meet in this story? What about this pillar of the magical teaching community, provider of good advice, strict admonishments and ginger newts to generations of young Gryffindors and loyal friend, who was one of the heroic defenders of Hogwarts? A lot could be said here, but two points on that list should be enough: her magic specialization and her most important magic skill. 

Minerva's own talents meant that for her transfiguration had always involved going to the magic core of the thing, creature or person she was about to transfigure, finding that element of their being that had the potential of corresponding to the thing, creature or person that she wanted them to become and then firmly if gently coaxing that transformation process into happening. What made her unique was that she always found that something that could be persuaded into changing in everything and everybody and that her own transfigurations never forced any changes, even when they were done in a duel or battle. That said, and to be blunt about it, done with less talent, transfiguration can be akin to rape and, despite her clear instructions, that was a recurring trauma in most of her lessons since many of her students were simply too unimaginative, too talentless or too contemptuous of the subject to get it right. And while she worked hard on improving her lessons, the thought would not have occurred to her that maybe practical transfiguration should not be a core subject taught to every witch or wizard whatever their talents or attitudes. Last but not least, the animal she chose to turn into as an _animaga_ is proof that she was a more complex character than many of her students and colleagues assumed. Theories abound about the connection between the creatures _animagi_ turn into and their souls - most of them poppycock and balderdash as she herself would point out. However, as anybody who knew her at all could attest there was something of a cat in Minerva. Cute and fluffy? More agile hunter with perfect night vision, patience and a firm belief in practicing one's skills even when that involved killing more mice than strictly necessary. 

This, dear reader, is all the warning you are going to get. Proceed at your own peril if you want to learn how the potions master and the cat fared after the war. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words of warning? Spoken by whom? The same voice that talks to you about "happily ever after" in other tales I presume. An authorial, slightly authoritative and male voice, the narrator of this tale, so not the real author. But worth heeding I think.  
> The author. (The real one. Of this fan fiction. Not of HP. That's JKR. She owns everything, btw.)


	2. Severus

It was the smell of smoke and burnt fur that alerted him to the presence of the ashwinder eggs on his doorstep. He swore under his breath, froze them with a quick wandless _Glacius_ and took them inside. If he hadn't been home, the old house might have caught fire, but then, he supposed, she had in all likelihood been observing the place and known he was in. He slightly shivered at the thought of his hiding place being watched by a former auror, no matter how close they had once been. That she had not attacked him or given him up to the authorities yet probably meant that she was after something other than revenge or justice for Albus. Whatever that something might be. 

Although Severus had been up and about for a little over a year now, stairs were still a challenge. Holding on to the banister with one hand while carrying the eggs in the other, and pausing for breath frequently, he slowly descended the stairs to the cellar. The icy cold temperature of the storage room he had created wasn't pleasant but at least none of the precious ingredients he had accumulated would spoil. As he stored the eggs in separate containers, he examined them closely for any damage. They were intact but he could see the light indentations made by a cat's teeth. She must have carried them to his doorstep one by one. Damn her, she probably had burnt her mouth just to make whatever point she was trying to make. If he in turn had left a small bottle of his special healing potion outside it was not because he was conceding defeat in whatever game she was playing. He just did not want to be indebted to anyone anymore, least of all to her. He had briefly considered putting the potion in a bowl so the cat could lap it up without delay but had decided against it. It was too precious to end up in a hedgehog's stomach. She might as well know he was on to her; he was getting tired of pretending otherwise. 

When Severus had moved in, he had been so sure he would never be found if he took the right precautions. This was the third place he lived in since he had been able to look after himself. He had not thought he'd survive but now that he had, with the help of Walden Macnair of all people, he intended to make the best of it and that did not include spending even a day in Azkaban. He had cringed at what the _Daily Prophet_ had had to say about "our fallen war-hero" but had no illusions about how welcoming the wizarding world would be to a living Severus Snape. Hadn't he, when he had been between places, seen the abrupt end of a fight between two other homeless wizards that had erupted over some chips someone had thrown in a bin as soon as they had spotted his name in the paper used to wrap the chips? They had thrown the paper on the floor, spit on it and become best friends over planning the gruesome details of what they'd do to the murderer of their hero and best friend, Albus Dumbledore. So Severus had been thrilled when he had discovered the empty old house on the grounds of an abandoned derelict industrial complex. The ground floor rooms were alright if not comfortable; there was an old wood stove in the kitchen, a table and a chair. Upstairs the one room that was still inhabitable had an old mattress in it. It would do, he thought, until he could think of what to do with his life. The leaking roof and smashed in upstairs windows might even be a bonus since no one would suspect that anyone lived here. He had been so sure this place was distant enough from everything in his past, London, Cokeworth, the Malfoy mansion, Hogwarts, all places he tried not to think about too much. He had thought he'd be safe here for a while. But by now it was clear to him that he had been found. He didn't yet understand, though, to what purpose. 

Having lived in Hogwarts, a place crawling with cats, even if you didn't count Minerva, which he didn't, he was well aware of their unfortunate habit of dragging dead or half-dead creatures inside. As Head of Slytherin he had had to deal with many a young Slytherin who was upset by finding the corpses or almost-corpses of various small animals in their slippers over the years. Usually pointing out that they were acting like Hufflepuffs had done the trick. He had meant to ask Minerva what the point this strange feline behaviour was but somehow hadn't got round to it. First he had been too much in awe of her; then he hadn't wanted to bring something up that might upset what had become a sort of friendship, really the only one he had had. When they had started having sex, first only occasionally, then more and more regularly, dead mice wouldn't have been on his mind if he had had the guts to ask her anything about what it was like to turn into a cat. And then they'd stopped speaking to each other except for curt orders what to do about school issues on his part and one last word, shouted at him twice when he had fled through the window, on hers. He sighed. Maybe now that she had found him he'd finally learn the answer. Probably, however, whatever Minerva herself was trying to achieve, cats just liked annoying people. 

He hadn't realized it was her initially. When the first dead rats, toads, frogs, fish and even the odd bat had ended up on his doorstep, he had suspected one of the neighbourhood cats. He had harvested the spleens, brains, eyes and any part that could be used for potions making. He couldn't deny that he appreciated the steady supply of potions ingredients, now that he was in hiding and no longer able to order them from Diagon Alley. He had never seen the cat but had left the odd bowl of milk outside to encourage the animal to return. He even had felt grateful towards the creature who couldn't know who and what he was and why what it left was so useful to him. He had actually roasted and eaten the first rats but when his strength had returned so had his ability to concentrate on more than shelter, warmth, food and water and he found in himself a great longing for the good things in life like reading, potions making and company. Reading was limited to the pile of half rotten _Readers' Digest_ issues, but potion making was an option and the felt presence of that as yet unseen neighboring cat was strangely comforting. Slowly his life had returned to some kind of normal and eventually he felt strong and pragmatic enough to take the rest of the gold teeth he had picked out of Macnair's pocket to the moneylender in the nearest bigger town. None of their previous owners would have survived whatever torture had involved pulling their teeth and none of them would be any better off if he denied himself what that gold could buy. The money had meant a slightly healthier diet, two second-hand volumes of Shakespeare's and Baudelaire's complete works, a cutting board, a set of good knives, various containers, a notebook and pens. In the notebook he had begun to write down what potions recipes he could remember with annotations on any insights his brewing under the reduced circumstances he was in had yielded. On some evenings he was nearly happy, thinking himself like that [medieval Irish scribe](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pangur_B%C3%A1n) working so hard on his writing while his [ white cat](https://www.ling.upenn.edu/~beatrice/pangur-ban.html) was busy hunting mice, despite the fact that so far he himself had only deduced the cat from what was left on his doorstep. 

Maybe he still wasn't as well as he had thought because why else would it have taken him so long to realize it was no ordinary cat that kept returning to his door when he wasn't looking. He didn't question the horned slugs, hairy caterpillars or newts. His first suspicions were raised by the boomslang. The next day, as he found some hellebore on his doorstep, obviously just dug out the ground, alarm bells started ringing. He was aware of cat grass and catnip, but hellebore? Would a cat have a use for hellebore and be able to dig it out? As if to allay his suspicions, a freshly killed jobberknoll bird was left for him the next night. Staring at its beautiful blue plumage, he was struck by what a fool he had been. Yet for weeks afterwards he had continued to pretend that he hadn't noticed anything strange even as more and more unusual or exotic items were left for him, including sea creatures like puffer-fish or lionfish, plants like _Nux Myristica_ or _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ and a bezoar that he recognized as one originally from his own stores in Hogwarts. It had to be Minerva. 

Ever since he had come to the conclusion that Minerva was stalking him he had been trying to figure out why she was doing this and what his response should be. His mood had swung between being scared and being hopeful, then between being angry and being worried. Why was she helping him but avoiding any direct contact? She was playing with him, just like a cat with a mouse. What was she waiting for? Except that every Slytherin could tell you that revenge was a dish best eaten cold. He remembered how that thought had kept him going in those last months of the Dark Lord's rule. So was she giving him time and hope to better crush him in the end? Whatever that stupid paper had been saying about him, no Gryffindor would ever truly consider him anything but a murderer. Albus had been honest with him about that. Not that he had cared that much at the time once he realized that there was no other option and never had been. Except that he couldn't help hoping that, one day, Minerva might understand that there had been nothing else to be done. But if that day had arrived now why did she continue to drop dead animals and plants on his doorstep instead of talking to him. No, it had to be some sort of cunning plan. She had enough Slytherin in her not to come barging in in Gryffindor fashion when it suited her. It had to be revenge she was after, after all.

When the little potions bottle had disappeared and a big lump of earth with a very young mandrake with some of its leaves chewed off sat on his doorstep, Severus decided that enough was enough. Was he the Slytherin or she? He'd make her show herself to him or leave him in peace. After some consideration of catnip or other alluringly smelling plants and a very brief and frightening thought of tidbits laced with rat poison he came to the conclusion that often the simplest plans were the best. A not so big box should do the trick. Cats, he knew from having to remove numerous Slytherin familiars from his room, were drawn to confined spaces — he had found them in his socks drawer, in cardboard boxes that had held books, in wooden crates in which potions ingredients or whisky had been sent and in many other such places — until he had learnt how to fix his wards only to allow access to one particular cat.

Severus was surprised how strong the feeling of nostalgia was that washed over him at the thought of Minerva's clandestine visits to his rooms as a cat. One particularly glorious birthday came to mind. The day had started horribly with a bunch of Slytherins getting in trouble, Albus first avoiding him and then being evasive over some Order business, and, finally, his Lordly Darkness being in a foul mood. He had returned to Hogwarts with no wish for company. What he had found there in his rooms was warmed towels and a hot bath in his bathroom and a lit fireplace, a rare nineteenth-century potions compendium, a bottle of single malt with one glass and a sleeping cat rolled up on his sofa in his living room. Only when — after one of the most relaxing evenings ever, spent with a good book, an excellent drink and a purring cat warming his midriff — he had carried her into his bedroom had she changed back into her human form. Remembering the night of pleasure that had followed took him back to other nights spent together, sometimes in his, sometimes in her bedroom, sometimes in some inn or hotel somewhere away from the school. For the very first time in a very long time his response to thinking of her wasn't only a heavy heart but a physical one, in a part of his anatomy he had believed as dead as that snake that had nearly killed him was reported to be. He put down the slightly mouldy cardboard box (a box that had at some stage contained cans of Batchelor's peas and been deposited in the house's cellar with the other junk the previous inhabitants had left behind) and leaned briefly against the kitchen wall to catch his breath. For a little while he allowed himself to dwell on the memory of her arse in those tartan knickers she wore. His pants began to feel even tighter. He grabbed the chair and sat down, freed his prick, which had so miraculously come alive, and began to take care of himself as memories of past encounters arose in his mind — _of him rubbing and squeezing her pussy; of her hand stroking, no her tongue licking, no her mouth sucking his..., no she had climbed him and was moving up and down, up and down, squeezing and relaxing, squeezing and relaxing, whispering endearments, groaning with pleasure, shouting his na—, COWARD! COWARD!_ He abruptly stopped what he was doing, his prick flapping limply to one side and shrivelling in the damp cold. Damn her. Damn him. Damn everything. 

Even so, when he put the Batchelor's peas cardboard box outside that evening, he had put a folded tartan throw that normally covered the sheets on his mattress inside. Just in case her purpose wasn't revenge or something equally dark, after all. Earlier that day, he had also walked in the direction of the next town and spent most of what was left of his money on cigarettes, the largest container of liquid soap and the only bottle of single malt the petrol station had on offer. Just in case. 

And then he started waiting for her to come back, night after night after night. 


	3. Minerva

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva's life after the war isn't easy either.

The forensic experts stared down at the human remains. Out of what seemed to be an inky smudge or scarring on a part of the skin of a probably male forearm (or what was left of it) a dead green snake seemed to emerge. Only it did not emerge from the body, it was part of the body. As if part of a tattoo had come alive, had been unable to escape and perished. A clever transplant of a snake's body, grafted on to the forearm of some crazy dude, they had thought at first. But then it became clear that the human skin had seamlessly turned into snake skin, not one grafted upon the other but one transforming into the other. In other words, it was one of _those_ bodies. It was time to call the specialists. The ones they liked to pretend did not exist.

***

The Deputy Minister of Magic was considering his options. Too many youngsters and weirdos in the Ministry these days but some of the female guests at this event - he checked his grandfather's muggle watch to see how much longer he'd have to stay - well, some of the female guests, muggles as well as witches, were quite attractive. His eyes lingered approvingly on a nice backside and then moved down to the pair of shapely legs emerging from a shorter than usual skirt. For a mature witch, Minerva McGonagall had kept a superb figure, even if she had lost a little too much weight for his liking since he had last seen her. When he had greeted her, he had thought she looked a bit more tired and haggard than was becoming. She was not that ancient, after all. Indeed, he remembered that she had been quite a bit younger than Elph, and hadn't Elph been quite young for a wizard when he died, and wasn't that not that long ago. Well, before the last war. Anyway, Minerva had always been fun and he had always found her combination of utter composure and a slightly nervous energy when she was arguing for or against something quite attractive. He might stay a little longer and try his luck, he thought. 

Minerva McGonagall may have been many different things to many different people but one thing she was most and foremost, a professional. Which explains why she smiled, joined the small talk, and tried to steer the conversation away from topics that might upset the fragile peace between the various conflicting interests, while subtly boosting her own. Educational policy decisions mattered, so consultations at the Ministry mattered, too, as did these awfully boring social events. Not for the first time she wished that she had some of Albus's passion for matters political. Even Severus would have been better at this than her. Albus. Severus. What had happened there still did not bear thinking about too much, even though, for different reasons, she did, of course, think of Albus and of Severus quite frequently. Even when she should have been focused on something else. Such as what was being decided between the stakeholders at this event. She had been brought up to do her duty, so here she was and here she would stay until the bitter end. Her school and her lost boys and girls, as she thought of them, would have to wait. 

The witches and wizards Minerva regarded as her lost boys and girls were those among her former Gryffindor students whose lives had been shattered one way or the other by the war. There were widowers with small children or babies to look after, like Remus Lupin; there were shellshocked survivors like George Weasley, who would have had plenty of relatives to look after him if he hadn't blamed himself and them for surviving when Fred hadn't and refused any contact with any Weasley family members, or Dennis Creevey, whose Muggle relatives had been unable to grasp what had happened and had taken him out of Hogwarts; then there were grieving parents like Mr and Mrs Brown, Mr and Mrs Weasley and all the other Gryffindor witches and wizards who had lost their children during the Battle of Hogwarts. Most of Harry's generation who had survived were doing better, even though they, too, mourned their schoolmates and teachers, but even among them there had been a number of students who had not returned to Hogwarts and who found it hard to find their bearings. She had a strict schedule of visits to the homes of the bereaved or to the other places where they were hiding from the world. Usually she brought some time, biscuits and normalcy with her, made tea and listened or just sat with them for a while. If they were not eating, not sleeping or not looking after themselves properly, she organized help from other sources, from other people or institutions that could intervene on a daily basis. She was grateful to the other Heads of Houses for doing similar good work with the families of their fallen. They all had never quite realized before how much being in a House did actually run in families. Only in a very few cases did Minerva and one or more of her three Heads of Houses share the burden of looking after mixed House families. This was food for thought. Thank Merlin the Ministry had insisted on looking after Muggle relatives. (That was one good thing she could say about Old Everett, who had been ogling her all evening. She needed to see to it that Kingsley made good on that promise that she could talk to him privately after the main do was over and that he didn't hand her over to his deputy.)

As always when her thoughts turned to the fallen, the desperate and the lost, Minerva was stung by her conviction that she herself should have been able to do much more for everyone and not just for her Gryffindors or as part of the special work she was occasionally asked to do for the Ministry or an old Order friend. But she was just one person, with a school to rebuild and run, with curricula, classes and cleaning schedules to organize and supervise, with teachers and current students to look after and, right here and now, with a minefield of school politics to navigate. Which she could only do, if she stopped ruminating and started paying attention. Kingsley was grinning at her, so obviously, he had said or heard something funny; she grinned back at him. Hopefully it hadn't been anything important.

Whatever Minerva's, Kingsley's or Old Everett's plans for Minerva's evening hat been, none of them came to fruition. It was only occasionally that the authorities called in former members of staff to help out but Minerva's special olfactory talents as an animaga meant she was needed more often than others when the bodies of witches and wizards, or what was left of them, were discovered. Kingsley had made it quite clear that that the laissez-faire attitude of previous administrations towards such matters was to be replaced by a firm resolve to account for each and every missing witch or wizard, dead or alive, perpetrator or victim in this last war. So before the less formal part of the evening had even begun to turn informal, Minerva had been called away on one of those special consultations she so much dreaded. She completely agreed with the principles laid out by the new minister, she was even proud to be of help in this matter. The work itself, however, was gruesome since she was never asked to view a body if it could be easily identified by the many other methods aurors and detectives had at their disposal.

The new consultation proved to be even more horrific than she had feared. When the aurors had finally been alerted, the dead wizard's swollen body had been exposed to the elements for a while. Maggots as well as other wild animals had already been at work and so it proved impossible to determine whether man (woman?) or beast or both were responsible for the torn (or cut? ) throat and broken neck and bones. It was also unclear whether the damage had been inflicted post-mortem or when the wizard had still been alive. It was not even possible to exclude suicide since someone in need of a weapon or of something to sell might have taken whatever instrument was responsible for the wound out of what was left of the dead wizard's hand. After all, no personal items had been found that could have given the aurors a clue to the wizard's name or identity. Maybe he had even died of some sort of overdose or natural causes and his body had then been mauled post-mortem. The area the body was found in was quite isolated but the Muggle authorities had informed the Ministry that there had been drug-related incidents there before, some of which had involved fatal outcomes. The aurors had only been able to determine that, while there was a residue of some magic activity having taken place and the greenish ashes in the informal fire place of the shelter included traces of burnt pine, hawthorn and acacia - a sure sign that someone had used a magic fire to destroy wands - the wizard had not died as the direct result of magic. That the body had indeed belonged to a wizard had become obvious through a number of indications, magical and sartorial; the likelihood of him having been a dark wizard seemed high since it could be determined that the body's otherwise good preservation (except for having been half devoured by wildlife) was due to a cocktail of forbidden potions the wizard had applied or taken. There was some faded scarring visible on what little skin was left of his left forearm which was consistent with a former Dark Mark, which had been partially transfigured into a snake. So a death eater most likely, and one who had survived his master for a few months. A few of them were still unaccounted for. What with the new minister's insistence on learning from the mistakes of the past, identifying the John Deatheater and establishing what had happened were given more priority than finding war criminals might have had in other circumstances. 

Since neither _reconstructo_ nor _revelio_ spells had enabled the aurors to see what exactly had happened or who the wizard was, due diligence meant that two former members of the Order were called in, to apply their special abilities. So when Minerva McGonagall, whose credentials also included being a former auror and the former transfiguration teacher of everybody in the team, arrived, she found poor Remus bent over a bucket and throwing up. She sighed. Why couldn't they just leave him alone? Granted, he, too, could, through his heightened sense of smell, find information that would otherwise have been left unfound. Granted, his spectrum of smells differed slightly from her own. But the poor man was grieving and found decaying bodies even more unsettling than she did. His grief made him respond to certain triggers in a less than rational way, which meant that the conclusions he drew from the odours he identified tended to be less than reliable, too. She wished she had brought her thermos of tea and the tin of biscuits with her but had not thought of them coming in handy during a Ministry do. She sighed again, and gently patted his back. 

"Is it that bad, Remus?"  
He stared at her, for a moment, before throwing up again, right at her feet. "It's simply ghastly. It smells of rot, decay, badness and -," he whispered. " and of Severus. I think it might be Severus, Minerva. It can't be, can it?" 

Severus.

Whom Harry, Ron and Hermione had seen die. Whose body had disappeared from the Shriecking Shack by the time she, Hagrid and Filius had gone there after the battle. Severus, who she knew had been alive when he left that place because of, oh so many details any witch or wizard who had had any experience of death would have spotted immediately. Not that she, Hagrid or Filius had ever mentioned this to anybody. A simple fire had taken care of that problem.

Severus.

Who she had so ardently hoped had survived. Alive and safe. Somewhere.

Who she had longed for and dreaded to meet again one day. 

Who she tried not to think about. Whose last year at Hogwarts she could not bear to think about once she had realized what he had really been all this time.

Severus here? Dead, not quite decomposing and his remains half-eaten by wildlife?

***

It had turned out Remus was wrong about the body. It wasn't Severus. One sniff at the scene in her animaga form had confirmed it. Macnair, it was Walden Macnair. The wizarding world could breathe again. One more death eater identified and taken care of; a tragic war hero still resting in his tomb, in the tomb only she, Hagrid and Filius knew was empty. The angry mob that had protested the official announcement of Severus Snape's heroic feats would not rise again to seek vengence for the many death eater atrocities he had witnessed without stopping them. Also, a grieving widower and father had been allowed to return to his child and to his lonely home. First Remus had been ashamed because of his mistake, but then he had been reassured by his former teacher agreeing that, yes, it had been an easy mistake to make because of the various potions Macnair had obviously been taking that could easily remind a person of a former potions master. Only it hadn't been a mistake about the smell. Minerva, too, had picked it up, a quite strong and unique odour, one that she knew better and more intimately than any other, except maybe for that of her late mother from whose womb she had emerged and whose breasts she had sucked. Severus had been here. Alive. Not well. But alive. Quite recently. She didn't mention this to anyone. Severus. What was she to do? What could she do?

Minerva McGonagall returned to Hogwarts. After all, she had a school to run, with curricula, classes and cleaning schedules to organize and supervise, with a minefield of school politics to navigate, with teachers and current students to look after. As well as her lost boys and girls. And she would, of course, be called upon again to identify some body or other. Only, let it not be him. And let him be well.

***

Immediately after the war, Minerva had tried not to think of Severus Snape at all, except for a quick prayer now and then for his well-being. She knew she had wronged him when thinking of him as a monster because of Albus's death (damn the man for using them all as pawns), because of his utterly despicable regime as headmaster and because of his flight. Although Harry's testimony had meant she had learnt about his true role in the fight against Voldemort, thinking of him was quite as unbearable as it had been during that horrid year. Maybe even more so, since she felt both guilty (at not having known him better and misjudged the situation) and angry (at Albus and Severus for lying to her, at herself for having so little judgement). Surprisingly she had not only felt miserable about Seversus's disappearance because it meant she could not tell him how sorry she was but she also found herself furious at herself for being so upset when she discovered how obviously still in love with Lily Evans he had been. Why on earth had it bothered her so much to learn about that part of Severus's memories when she had always suspected that Severus must have had some tragedy in his earlier life. Why had she responded so strongly to him mourning another woman as the love of his life, when what had been between Severus and herself had been a friendship and sexual relationship of convenience, more cherished over the years on her part before it ended so abruptly but never more. Shouldn't she of all people be able to understand how persistent unfulfilled love could be? Better not to go there, she thought. Whatever had been between them, it was in the past.

After Minerva had helped identify the body of Macnair, matters got worse. While she managed not to think of Severus that much in her waking hourse, nights were a different matter. As after the Battle of Hogwarts, her nights were full of nightmares and dreams, increasingly about Severus Snape. Unless she had asked Horace for some potion for dreamless sleep, she would wake up repeatedly, soaked in sweat, either glad that she had not been tortured by Headmaster Snape and his Dark Overlord, relieved that she had not joined Tom Riddle's death eaters and had not helped to slowly kill Albus and Severus or disappointed to realize that the passionate sex with the young potions master had just been a dream. More often than not, her nightmares and dreams had a strong sexual dimension, so whatever she felt when she awoke, she was also aroused. Frantic hand movements later, she would come. Each and every time that glorious peak was followed by the same old sense of shame and anger when she remembered the many dead, the suffering of the survivors and how unlikely it was that she would ever see or feel Severus's naked body again. Which he would have preferred to have shared with Lily Evans.

Next, she sought sleep via Horace's dreamless sleep potions. They made her feel so sluggish, tired and depressed the next day that she decided she could not go on taking them if she wanted to run a school and be useful.

For a brief while, Minerva even considered not sleeping on her own. The new Muggles Studies master, who had spent the past few years abroad, would not have been her first choice as a sexual companion in the past but he was here, alive and randy and so was she. This time she and the other party would agree explicitly that this was for their mutual convenience and nothing else. This time she would be careful not to develop any inappropriate feelings. The sex would be pleasant. The dreams and nightmares would stop.

She had been unable to go through with it. Damn Severus. Damn herself. Damn the whole bloody fucking world.

So Minerva more or less stopped sleeping until she found him. That she did find him before she became quite crazy from sleeplessness was by chance, really, although Albus would have admired her strategic planning. The olfactory traces near the scene where Macnair's body had been found had led to a small river and then stopped. Clever Severus. But Minerva was nothing if not patient. As well as the brightest and most talented witch of her generation, as she had been told so many times when younger. So what she did was strategically explore possible locations near and then further away from the Macnair scene. She did so both in her human and in her feline form. She was sure Severus had to be hiding somewhere and decided to work from the assumption that he would avoid cities, which, while fairly anonymous, put him too much at risk of being recognized. And after only a few months, a rat she had come across near a small brook and had decided to chase to hone her hunting skills before calling it a day had led her to his door step. 

Obviously, the rat had been no match for her and she had bitten to kill just before the animal had tried to disappear into a hole in the wooden structure of a seemingly derelict house because killing needed to be practised, too. Just then his odour, that strong, male, unique odour of his, had hit her olfactory system. She had been so surprised that she had dropped the dead rat, and raced into the nearest bush to collect her thoughts. Before she had been able to come to a decision what to do next, the door had opened, and there he was, a darkly clad figure, so thin and pale and obviously still not well. So beloved. He had stared at the dead rat on this doorstep. After a moment, a look had passed his face that lay somewhere between surprise, sarcasm and relief and then he had picked up the dead animal and vanished back into the house.

That morning, when Minerva had returned to Hogwarts, she had cancelled all her lessons and appointments, gone to bed and slept for two whole days without any dreams or nightmares. She woke up feeling rested and happy but still did not know what she would do about Severus. Since Poppy had decided she must be sick, she had the luxury of eating breakfast in bed. Toast and tea always helped her think. Severus was her lost boy, too, maybe more than any of the others. Now that she had found him, she would not lose him again. But in his relief not to see anybody but a dead rat on his doorstep she had sensed fear of discovery and, while part of her wanted to rush to where he was hiding and drag him back to civilization, health and a hero's welcome, she knew about the pitfalls of politics. In a worst case scenario the angry Albus mob would win and Severus would be worse off than now. And he might think her not his friend and any action that gave his whereabouts away the act of a ministerial toady. For a brief moment she had a vision of herself as a cat dropping Severus at Kingsley's feet. See how briliant I am, I have brought you this gift. There was also the question why Severus had been near Macnair when or shortly before or after he died. No, he needed to be left alone and helped at the same time. Well, best to go about that slowly but surely. Again she thought of herself in her cat shape, dropping something at someone's feet, only this time the feet were Severus's. Maybe. She would figure it out when she returned to his lair later that night.

But before she could do so, she had to see to the school she was supposed to run and needed to visit some of her other lost boys and girls. Poppy would simply have to accept that she was not staying in bed any longer. She took a last sip of tea and got up.


	4. They Meet Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are in each other's lives again.

Minerva returned to the old building night after night to find out more about how poor dear Severus was doing and what she might do to help him. After some more dead furry animals left as cover when she thought he might have noticed that someone was watching, she realized that Severus had begun to behave less like a homeless drifter making do and more like a fugitive potions master who had returned to his craft. On a full moon night, he had nearly seen her when he was picking nightshade. The nightshade had worried her a for a bit until she came to the conclusion that he would have had ample opportunities for suicide before if he had wanted to kill himself. Of course, his return to potions making was a logical step for him to take. Potions was so much like ordinary human activities like chemistry or cooking that it was the only form of magic undetectable by the ministerial supervision spells that created a central record of all magic activities and occurances in Britain. So obviously, if he wanted to stay anonymous, potions was the only kind of magic he could do. Also, potions was what he was good at, really; despite all his fuss about DA, Potions had been his best subject. Over a cup of tea and biscuits, she had checked the 1949 edition of _Advanced Potions Making_ that had been her own school book. The various terms listed in the index had reminded her how many and various parts of small furry animals, amphibians, snakes etc. did indeed make good potions ingredients. Her animaga shape could do with more killing practice anyway. So while she was figuring out what to do next and continuing her observation of his progress, this was something she could do for him, she had decided. She would take matters from there. This made sense.

For months, this is what happened: Minerva worked her way through the index of her potions book - as she became more and more sure that she might want to actually stop merely observing the wizard and actually talk to him, her gifts became less and less likely to be those of an actual cat. Maybe he could be eventually persuaded that they had been left by a friend who wished him well and oh so deeply regretted the terms on which they had parted company. And maybe, he might be persuaded to forgive her and accept her help in figuring out what he could do next. Her cat self was getting quite impatient for this to happen, because there had never been any bad blood between cat Minerva and her favourite human. Even more than her human self, who was at all times aware of the complex and sometimes difficult nature of their past relationship and the horrid reasons for its end, her cat self just missed his presence, his warm body to fall asleep on, his hands that found these exquisit spots on her body to scratch and stroke, his voice when he whispered secrets to her that he could not quite bring himself to talk about with human Minerva. Yet cat Minerva accepted that it was human Minerva who took important decisions. And until she received the return gift of a little bottle that contained the potion that would take care of the blisters in her mouth, human Minerva had not considered that it might be time for the talk she realized they needed to have.

As you know already, Severus had finally realized who it was that left these potential potions ingredients on his door step. After a long period of considering his options and what the likely reason for these items being left for him could be, he, too, decided that it was time they talk, even if it was only to discover what kind of trap it was she was laying for him. And yet, he couldn't help hoping. So hoping and waiting is what he was doing when you last met him, and hope (a litte less every night) and wait (a little more impatiently and desparately every night) he continued to do. Night after night after night. 

Night after night after night with no Minerva showing up. As you will understand, staying up most nights and then spending days agitating over why nothing was happening, was not good for a man of Severus's temperament, especially not in a state of health that was less than perfect, to say the least. Severus wasn't a patient man at the best of times. Obviously, he had had to learn patience when he worked as a spy but it had not suited him and led to his general crabbiness and contemptuousness being increased ten-fold where he felt he was allowed to express it. For example, when he was dealing with thoughtless students endangering their classmates, like arrogant Potter and that total potions failure Longbottom. A great part of the appeal of his snarky banter and then his sexual encounters with Minerva had been that they provided an outlet for both their nervous energies. Minerva was one of the few people he had leant to trust and whose company he truly enjoyed, until it all had gone south. He had not really cared to think too much about whether it was her who had disappointed him or him who had disappointed her or both but as lack of sleep increased so did his anger. Nature and nurture as well as the circumstances of his teenage and adult life meant that Severus was suspicious of anybody showing him good will; as he slept less and less his view of what Minerva was up to grew darker and darker. This was a trap. And this time, he was damned if he would let her and anybody she was in cahoots with get away with this. This time, he was done with being perceived as a coward. This time, he would stand his ground.

So things might have ended really badly when Minerva finally did come back after a fortnight. By the time she was ready to return, Severus's paranoia and pride had reached their zenith.

Exam week had meant that she had had to spend days and nights in Hogwarts, not during the week but also some days before that stressful part of the school year. Last minute changes in the exam schedule needed looking after as did the students, quite a number of whom were panicking or went stir-crazy with having sat inside all this time to study despite the school's efforts to make them spend time outside. That bottled special healing potion Severus had left for her had come in handy, not only for her own stupid injuries, but for the burns of that idiotic Hufflepuff who had fallen asleep while cramming and who had started a fire that might have burnt down the library when she slumped forward and the muggle candle she was using to avoid detection for keeping a _lumos_ spell going after curfew fell over. Irma, Pomona and Poppy had expressed surprise that she "still" had a bottle of a potion brewed by Severus and that it had kept so well in that office cabinet she had "found" it in. Minerva's heart beat faster whenever she thought about the obvious fact that he had figured out that it was her who was leaving him gifts and, despite a certain nervousness, she could not wait to have that talk with him. But exam week was exam week. While not very sure of the reception she would get, Minerva was not too worried about the lapse in time, however. Surely a former Potions Master, Head of Slytherin and Headmaster would be aware of what exam week meant for the schedule of a Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor, even though he himself had not been headmaster long enough to experience it from that perspective. Besides, ashwinder eggs and a young mandrake should keep him busy for a while. 

One thing that might but did not happen was for Severus to disppear again. Severus's most famous action during the war (before the truth about what he was really doing had emerged) had been his flight from that duel, and her parting words had hurt him deeply. Before the end, he needed one thing to happen, and that was for Minerva to realize that he was no coward. It had chagrined Severus's sense of pride that she had mistaken what was superior strategic behaviour for mere cowardice. This time there was no greater good that meant he had to disppear. If there had been another duel it would very likely have ended with one or both of them seriously wounded or dead. Or Minerva seriously wounded or dead, and Severus in Azkaban. Or Severus might have felt it necessary to temporarily withdraw, regroup his forces and then hit at his perceived enemy when she was least expecting it, by the means he knew to apply best, which had the added advantage of not immediately showing up on the ministerial radar of magic Britain. Which would have meant that he would have seemed to be gone, only to suddenly attack, either by brute physical force (less likely, not the least because Minerva was physically quite tough, too) or, much more likely, by the devious application of a poisonous potion. Or he might seemingly have welcomed her and then done what needed doing. After all, he did have plenty of nightshade to spice the whisky he had so optimistically purchased. He even considered how she should die, should it become a necessity, quickly, for old time's sake or slowly, with some time to get some answers through the use of Veritaserum, to see whether there was anybody else he had to take care of and what exactly it was they had been planning to do with him once they had caught him. So you see, the more paranoid Severus had become, the likelier it had become for things to end really badly when Minerva finally did turn up on his door step.

Only it didn't end so badly because, apart from being a sleep-deprived paranoid potioneer who had decided to take a stand, Severus was also his father's son.

Had anyone but Minerva been looking for a former death eater in or around the area of the deserted industrial plant that night, they would have had no difficulty locating him from miles away simply by the noise he was making. When Minerva arrived, the racket had stopped. Her ears picked up the sound of muffled breathing. As she approached the door her olfactory senses were hit by a strangely sweet mix of sweat, alcohol and vomit with traces of the pheromones indicative of human fear and human aggression. Severus was lying slumped on his threshold, his arms around some kind of tartan wrap with bits of cardboard sticking out of it; he was lying in a pool of vomit, amid shards of glass from a whisky bottle and next to a broken down chair. As Minerva approached the body she could not help meouwling. The sound of breathing stopped for a moment only to be replaced by loud snoring. Good, he was alive but had passed out. She had started licking his hands before she even realized what she was doing. She cautiously stepped over the wrap and began to lick his face and hair. No response. She pushed her nose into his mouth. Bad breath, predominantly smelling of alcohol and vomit but nothing left in there to make him choke and no indication, as far as she could determine, of him having taken a potion with his drink. His breathing and general look also indicated that he was drunk and not poinsoned or dying. So there was time to consider what to do next. After a cautious cat had taken a quick tour of the house, Minerva transformed back to her human shape. She had not found any more bottles of whisky or any other spirits but if she interpreted the evidence correctly, Severus had kept some alcohol in the cellar for preserving potions ingredients and had raided his own stocks. At least he had not broken any of his ingredients glasses and taken alcohol from there. Even when drunk, a potions master knew better than to do that. She had hoped to find anti-hangover potion among his potions stocks but came away empty-handed. It seemed he had not expected to need any. In the past, it was her and her colleagues who had benefited from Severus's brewing skills in this respect. He wasn't a teetotaller but he rarely drank to excess. While he did join her in emptying a bottle of wine or champagne and had a glass or two of whisky with her on occasion, Minerva had never seen him pass out from drinking. She sighed and climbed the stairs to the ground floor. If he was to be kept safe she would have to deal with this the muggle way. Her one transformation would hopefully not cause any alarms to go off in the ministry, especially since they were used to her habit of popping up all over the map. (Indeed, she had made sure to apparate to a number of other places every night since she had first observed Severus and never approached the house from the same location.) But if she started using cleaning and healing spells or transfigured anything into items she needed that would surely register as an unprecedented increase in magic activity. At least she still had the "undetectable" magically modified kaffir lime leaves she had confiscated from an enterprising Weasley cousin a week previously in her dress pocket. _No muscles? Impending exams? Need to impress your girlfriend? Weasley's Wonder Leaves Will Give You Mega Strength! Super Endurance! Increased Performance! (No animals were hurt in the process.)_ , the packet screamed in orange letters. She put a leaf in her mouth and started chewing.

Except for the place where Severus was lying, half inside and half outside, the house was surprisingly clean. Minerva had found towels and a kettle in the kitchen as well as a bucket, a broom and a half empty container of liquid soap. When talking about dealing with the drunks of his parish, her father had often said it was best to let sleeping dogs lie but Minerva did not believe that waking up lying in one's own vomit on shards of glass with a pounding headache could be good for anyone. Suppressing a wave of nausea at the stench that was that much more unbearable to a human than a cat, Minerva began to clean the area around Severus. Close up, Severus looked the worse for wear, with deep shadows under his eyes that had not been there a fortnight ago. What on earth could have happened? He had been so good at looking after himself. A wave of shame washed over her. If the state he was in was the result of her trying to help then she should have stayed away. Then she proceeded to do what needed to be done.

It is hard to be anything but miserable when you wake up and your body feels as if it had been driven over by a truck repeatedly, your stomach seems to be at the same time hollow and full of bricks and your head is pounding. Otherwise, Severus felt emotionally quite drained. Like a drinks carton that someone had not only emptied but also squeezed flat to make sure nothing was left inside. He opened one eye cautiously only to close it again when daylight hit his retina like a sword cutting through to his innermost being. He was lying on his matress he realized; his hands felt the fabric of bed clothes; they, he and the room smelled of cheap soap, and he realized that his hair was still damp from having been washed. His face and body had been washed too. He was quite naked under his blanket. He never slept naked except when ... There was an odd smell of cooling tea and something in the air. And of Minerva. He sat up so abruptly that his head started spinning and pounding in a way that made the headache he had woken up to seem a light breeze compared to the present hurricane. He sat still waiting for something to happen. Nothing. He cautiously opened one eye, then the other, to look around him. There was no one there but on what was left of his chair (mended inexpertly but efficiently with string), there was a tray with a spoon, an empty glass and an empty mug on it (the Official Royal Wedding Celebration Mug, with Diana and Charles staring strangely back at him), as well as a bottle of milk, a carton of orange juice, a carton of tomato juice, a yellow plastic lemon, probably full of lemon juice, a miniature bottle of vodka, a packet of salt, a packet of Farley's rusks, a few dried leaves and a nearly cold pot of tea (his own Tetley's from the kitchen, he guessed) with an odd additional smell. He sniffed. He glanced at the dry leaves. (Moving his head hurt and made him feel nauseous.) Caffir lime leaves? Caffir lime leaves. There was a note popped up against the tea pot, in her spidery handwriting: _Severus!_ The exclamation mark was oddly comforting since it was an odd habit she had picked up from a German teacher who had come to stay as a paying guest in her parents' home that he had greatly enjoyed teasing her about, especially since no actual German would ever dream of using the exclamation mark the way she did. He reached over and unfolded the note.

 _"Severus!"_ , he read. _"Severus! You'll be glad to read that the odd taste in your tea isn't poison from your cellar but some modified lime kaffir leaves I confiscated the other day (from a Weasley cousin). Not that you usually would need my input for identifying ingredients of any brew, but who knows how all that booze has affected your potioneering abilities. Miraculously these leaves seem to be working and will help greatly with the hangover you are sure to have. WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? I leave you alone with a perfectly fine young mandrake to keep you occupied and I return to a train wreck. YOU ARE BETTER THAN THIS! And what on earth were you thinking mixing that alcohol you use to pickle animal parts and plants with a single malt (even if it was one so bad that it never should have been made in the first place)? As you will be sure to fail to notice unless I point it out I have been able to clean up your mess by hand so your hiding place is still safe from the all-seeing eye of the ministry and so are you. Do not expect me to do that ever again, it was quite revolting. The mess on the floor, not you. Oh, Severus! I might as well say now how sorry I am about everything and I have no idea how you are ever going to forgive me but forgive me you must, at least enough to let me help you figure out [unreadable since smudged with tear stains] one of the only three people who know you escaped the Shrieking Shack and the only one who knows where you are! [unreadable since smudged with tear stains] don't care if you did kill that Macnair bastard or stolen something from his body or left him to die, Severus! So don't you dare not to be here tonight! Two years ago, about this time, you promised me a date and I am holding you to your promise. This is it. Tonight. So stay put. (And I will bring some food, more clothes, and some of Horace's anti-hangover potion, just to be sure. Maybe a bottle of the good stuff so you are not reduced to whatever the name of that third-rate stuff you bought should you like a drink.) This will have to do until I see you. Keep safe and get better. Minerva. PS: Just in case: I do not wish to harm you in any way. Mentioning the poison was a joke. I also don't think you are a murderer, not even of Albus's even if he made you end his life. There. I've said it. See you tonight. M."_

So he stayed put. Drank the lukewarm tea, ate a dry biscuit, drank some milk, and made himself a tomato juice with lemon juice, then decided to put the vodka in after all, then grumbled about perfectionists pretending to be perfect and overlooking simple ingredients like celery sticks, Worcester and pepper sauce. No wonder Minerva had sucked at potions. Mmm. Maybe not sucked but just not been near good enough to be taken seriously. Then he slept again. Then he drank the carton of orange juice and nibbled one more biscuit he had dunked into the juice. That was better. And chewed one more Weasly lime kaffir leaf. Which gave him enough strength to crawl out of bed, do his ablutions, go to the loo and make himself a fresh pot of tea. Then he slept some more. When he woke, he chewed another leaf, managed to get the rubbish out of his room, cleaned the dishes, washed himself a bit more, put on some pants and a shirt and even changed the bedclothes. Then he lay down on the bed again. A _date_ with Minerva. He couldn't help grinning. And another part of his body seemed to be quite happy too. Modified lime kaffir leaves, hmm? His grin broadened and he fell asleep again.

When he woke again, it was pitch dark. Something warm and heavy was sitting on his head and fur was pressing against his face. He nearly panicked but relaxed when he realized it was Minerva, in her cat shape and fast asleep on his head. Snoring. He grinned. Next to a sexy woman a sleeping cat was the best bed companion a man could wish for. And Minerva provided both kinds of companionship, human and feline. He cautiously put a hand up, gently pushed her from his head and started rubbing her behind the ears and then moved his hand gently down her spine and pressed against the base of her tail. Again and again. Her eyes half opened and she started purring, loud and insistently, like those old motorcycle and car engines his father's friend had been repairing in the back yard. He pressed his nose against her fur. The purring suddenly stopped, the cat lept from the bed and Minerva landed on her behind with a loud bang as she had transformed in mid-flight. From her position on the floor, she stared at him with her eyes wide open.

"I am so sorry, Severus", she whispered. "I did not mean to intrude. You were fast asleep when I arrived and I myself was so tired so I transformed. I only thought it would be alright to keep your feet warm and then I must have fallen asleep. I am so, so, so sorry."

"And sleepwalked as a cat? You were sitting on my head when I woke up. I nearly had a heart attack. And don't you dare start crying, Minerva." he added in response to the trembling in her voice. He couldn't quite say why but having her so close and hearing her apologize for something that had been so enjoyable only a few moments ago made him angry again. "Why come at all if you can't bear my presence? To apologize? You needn't have bothered. I don't care what anybody thinks or feels about me. Never have and never will."

Minerva felt his words like a blow. "I know you don't care, Severus. I was made aware of that. But once we were friends of sorts and I do want to help."

"Sod that," he hissed in the general direction from where her voice came, "sod your bloody helper syndrome that made you take the ugly git to your bed in the first place. Sod your feeling guilty and having to apologize - for what do you think you have to apologize? You were safely ensconced in your little school world; you did not have to go out and watch innocent people being tortured and killed; you did not have to give up every bit of your peace of mind and your honour to kill a man you were bound to by loyalty and oath to overthrow a monster you were bound to by loyalty and oath. You did not have to turn into a monster yourself to keep worse monsters at bay. How dare you want forgiveness from me?"

At that point, Minerva felt so miserable that she would have liked nothing better than to be swallowed up by a hole in the ground, or, since that wasn't an option, turn back into a cat and run. Although she also wanted to stand up and shout back at him. How dare she? How dare he! As quickly as she could, she got up from the floor and stood up. "Pull yourself together, Severus," she said, her cold voice dripping with disdain. "I am full aware that the extent of your suffering greatly surpasses mine, although you are wrong to think I did not have to see people being tortured and killed. But if you want to see this as a competition, you win. I am also fully aware that you do not think highly of yourself and if nothing I can say or do will convince you that I do, so be it. I also know that we were a convenience to each other in the past and not more. But no man can survive on his own and you do need help. Whatever you say about my motivation, I am that help. So stop acting like a drama queen and get a grip on yourself. I'll be in the kitchen, warming up the meal I brought. We can eat and then discuss what's to be done next." And she was gone.

The beginning of the meal was easily the most uncomfortable and difficult half hour they had ever spent in each other's company. After enduring what seemed an eternity of total silence, Severus began asking polite questions after mutual acquaintances, former friends and pupils. Minerva's responses were nearly all monosyllabic. "Gone." "Dead." "Well." "Fine." "Unknown." After a while she looked firmly into Severus's eyes, and began answering properly although she still was using rather short sentences. "I don't know, I wish I did." "He has lost his wife and is looking after the baby." "She is doing really well."

After another while, Minerva asked how he had managed to get away and stay alive. Severus told her about Macnair's bright idea to disappear from the battle ground and take an injured Severus with him as a kind of insurance policy and possible future potioneering slave. And, no, he had not killed Macnair, although he had been sorely tempted but, yes, he had come back from looking for some potions ingredients and found him dead and had ransacked his pockets. He did not mention the gold teeth.

After yet another while they did open that bottle she had brought. and they began discussing and rejecting options for his future life. 

**#1 Go to America or Australia.** She could get false papers she thought but was not sure that would not get them both sent to Azkaban if something went wrong. (And the thought of his leaving the country made both feel quite depressed, although neither as much as hinted anything about this to the other.) 

**#2 Continue to create potions in a lab hidden from the authorities.** She offered to work as a go-between between him and the potions pedlars who were selling to the end-users. Not ethical and not practical, since he would depend on seedy or criminal characters exploiting the weakness or greed of ordinary magical folk. (Although he couldn't help grinning ever so slightly and asking, "For a cut?" when he imagined Minerva acting as a go-between. Well, possibly she had done worse when she worked as an auror in her youth.) 

**#3 Return to teach potions at Hogwarts and not give a fuck about what the authorities said or did.** And get the school, Hagrid and Filius into trouble, never mind that at least half the parents would refuse to allow their children to continue to attend the school. ("They wouldn't." "They would, Minerva, and you know it.") 

**#4 Persuade the ministry to take him on as an auror under an assumed name.** They owed him. And Minerva was pretty sure she could get Old Everett to support the idea if she wore a short enough skirt. Not that she mentioned this to Severus.( Who nevertheless cast a suspicious eye at her and mumbled something about wondering why she thought she had undue influence over someone there.) 

**#5 A pension and a new identity.** Minerva could use her influence to get him a pension. A secret one. (Wasn't he a war hero? And if nobody knew what the money was for nobody could alert the Albus mob.) 

**#6 Adoption.** Minerva could adopt him and he could live as her adopted son in the country. ("A pro forma adoption, through the ministry", Minerva explained, "I would not interfere with your life at all. You would live in another part of the country where no one knows either of us." But if anyone traced his identity back to her, there was someone to confirm he was who he pretended to be. Which wouldn't be the case if he simply changed his name. "You, see," she added, "you could build up your own potions lab, quite officially. McGonagall's and Son." Severus couldn't believe his ears. Adopt him? The last time they had been on good terms she couldn't get enough of his cock and now she wanted to be a mother to him ? One mother had been quite enough. This was getting ridiculous.

"I wasn't aware, dear Minerva", he snarled, "that you were so fond of me as to want to share a name with me. I remember you would not even share my bed for a whole night most of the time." 

"That." Minverva whispered. "Is. Unfair. That was because we couldn't risk getting caught. I've been properly fond of you for a long time. I was even fond of you when I thought the worst and it nearly broke me. It wasn't me who carried on with someone while really only caring for someone else. That was you."

"What?"

"Well, you don't think the ministry just took Harry's word that your intentions had been pure and conferred posthumous honours on you on a teenager's say so. They picked a jury of twelve peers, showed us your memories and then asked us for our verdict. Which was a majority verdict in your favour."

"What?"

"They made us watch your memories. I saw what you saw, what you thought of and what you remembered when you were dying. Seemed to die."

"You and 11 other witches and wizards watched my memories?"

"Yes. So I know."

"What? I mean what do you know?"

"What?"

"What do you know? I don't remember. I mean, I don't remember what I remembered at that particular moment in time since the only thing I remember of that particular moment is knowing that I had to get Harry to do something important. Not that I have forgotten my life or anything."

She stared at him. "You had already fulfilled that obligation, Severus. You were dying. You were looking into his eyes and thinking about how much you loved his mother."

"Lily?"

"I'm unaware of any other mother Harry might have had."

Silence. "I loved Lily dearly and with all my heart when I was a boy, Minerva," he said after some minutes had passed, "but I fucked it up. And then I fucked up again when I let Voldemort know about whose baby was meant by the prophecy. And I did dedicate my life to atoning for what I had done and so, yes, you could say I loved her all my life. I did. I still do. And if I was looking into Harry's eyes, no wonder I was thinking about his mother. You know he has his mothers' eyes. But Minerva, that does not mean I have been unable to, well, to develop feelings for someone else, someone alive, someone who brought me respite and peace when things were going wrong. Until I fucked it all up again. I couldn't even think of you, it made me that miserable that I had fucked this up, too. How was I to know you had feelings for me too, when we never even talked about being friends? We talked about what kinds of sex we liked, about books, and art, and music, and school, and pupils but we never much talked about _us_ , did we? " He suddenly looked very tired.

Minerva grabbed his hand. "I never knew whether you were-"

"Whether I was what?"

"Fond of me."

"I was. Have been. Am. Very. Properly." He looked at her. "And you?"

"Yes," she said, "very much so." And she leaned forward and kissed him.


	5. Happily Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after. (With additional material. We learn who the narrator (a.k.a. the author) of chapters 1-4 and the ending is, hear more from him as an interview with him has been transcribed and get a glimpse of Severus Snape's happiest memory.)

And they lived happily ever after.

_The end._

**_Transcript of Author Interview_ **

**Q: That is the whole story?**

A: No of course that wasn't all. And of course they weren't excruciatingly happy all the time. Nobody who is human could stand that. Not even those of us who you might think of as half-human. And there is no ever after either for any of us.

They stayed together and loved each other as best as they could. They had their quarrels but they also had their reconciliations. They had times when they did not understand what the other was going on about. They had times when a simple look told the other exactly what their partner was thinking. They shared private jokes and bantered publicly to their hearts' content. They still did not like talking about themselves that much but they realized how important it was to do so so they did their best. Both of them. Severus Snape still had a temper and was impatient when faced with what he considered stupidity. Minerva McGonagall still felt she ought to save the world and his wife. She still had a temper too, when someone annoyed her. And Severus knew how to annoy her just fine. They spent time apart and they spent time together. They enjoyed each other's company, both in and out of bed. They looked after each other when they got sick and they looked out for each other when they had problems. They lived long and prospered, as the saying goes. One lived longer than the other but not much longer. They are both gone now and they are sorely missed by their few good friends and close relatives, at least by those that are still alive. Since their deaths, it has become quite the fashion among former students and their descendants to bring flowers to their graves on the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, then go for drinks and talk about their heroism in difficult times. This fashion will pass. Each of them has had a statue put up to their memory in Hogwarts, something they would have vehemently opposed had they been asked. Their portraits are still asleep and should they awake sooner rather than later it is not to be expected that anyone who knew them well will find them very similar to the people they knew. It is unlikely that they shared enough personal information with the painter for the paintings to reflect their private selves. Not many people who knew them intimately still live.

You seem to want more details. Well I did not live in the UK and only saw them rarely but ask away and I will provide answers if I can and if it is seemly. It would be nice if some record of who they really were survived.

**Q: How did you know that they loved each other? How did you know them at all? Why should the reader trust you?**

A: Well, that is a good a question. I know that they loved each other because I knew love myself although I lost that love much too soon. I could see they loved each other because I knew what love was. How I met them? I was one of her favourite students in Hogwarts and his most feared enemy when I was a boy. I became one of their closest friends when they reunited since Minerva was one of my daughter's godmothers and she felt she owed us the truth. Me in particular because she wanted me to trust my instincts again. I suppose he and I became sort of friends when we understood the larger picture. It takes a monster to understand a monster, was something we used to joke about in the Order days, when we were fighting that monster Voldemort. And I don't think either of us ever fully lost that sense that at least part of us was monster not human. I didn't like how abrasive and mean he could be but when he and Minerva ended up together I could not help but think quite highly of him. If you only knew her by reputation you cannot know how profoundly wise Minerva was, what a fountain of good advice, what a star of brightness in our lives. If you only know the books and _Hogwarts, a History_ , she might have come across to you as somewhat lacking judgment on occasion. So what, she was human, and you will have realized by now that I do not believe in perfection or simplifications. But Minerva was a truly wise woman as much as any human, muggle or witch, can be, so I did trust her choice of mate to be a wise one too. Which it proved to be over the years. Why you should trust me, well that's another good question, and one I can't answer except by saying that my life has been so marred by pretence from an early age on that I have developed a strong dislike for it.

 **Q: How did their reconciliation proceed after that kiss with which you ended the last chapter? This is not the 1940s when a kiss was a fit "happy ending". Readers will want to know more.**

A: Well, I don't know what I can rightly tell you actually happened. They did have sex, repeatedly, if their red cheeks, the way they looked at each other, the grins on their faces the next morning were anything to go by. I was quite stunned because I don't think I had ever seen Severus look happy before. Yes, I did see them the next morning because I, too, had been thinking about that strange smell that so reminded me of Severus Snape, who I thought I knew to be dead, and had decided to revisit the scene and take it from there. You may remember that Severus's trail ended in a brook, ended for Minerva that is. Who had the olfactory skills of a cat, an animal that may be quite superior in many ways but whose sense of smell is no match for that of a werewolf. So I followed the trail and ended up finding Severus myself, a bit later than Minerva and in her arms, but find him I did. And this is why they ended up telling me the whole story to begin with. Is there anything else I know about their sex lives? Only this: They enjoyed each other tremendously, which was something you could see as soon as they were standing next to each other. Not that they were touching each other or anything obvious like that but until the very end they stood just that little bit too close to each other and there was a noticable spark there when they interacted. And, yes, there is another thing that came up when Severus and I met in a doctor's office: Maybe the Weasley leaves had played a role or Severus's health had improved or whatever had been on his mind wasn't on his mind any more, but whatever the reason, any performance enhancement proved quite unnecessary in later years. Or so he told me when I asked him whether he was there for the same reason as I was. But quite frankly I don't think it makes a difference one way or the other since they were so obviously very happy whenever I saw them even if that was only occasionally.

**Q: So what did Severus Snape end up doing? Did he return to Hogwarts?**

A: No, at least at first, he did not. I myself, unlike Minerva, who worked as a volunteer, had joined the auror special forces in a paid capacity and I hired Severus as a private consultant. We worked well together and got results so the ministry became curious who my consultant was. Old Everett had gone by then but Kingsley was as easy to persuade to help Severus out. (Without Minerva's skirt length playing a role. As you may or may not know the Minister was and continues to be married to a nice wizard. Yes, you may have heard of him and, no, I am not going to share any gossip. If you know, you know; if you don't, you don't.) I don't know the details of what was arranged because around that time I had met my second wife and we had decided to bring the family up in her native place but I do know that eventually everybody thought they had always known Severus Snape was a good chap, who despite great suffering had continued to do the important work of bringing those bastards to justice. He ended up teaching in Hogwarts again, too, for a few years before Minerva retired and I am not so sure what he did then because, when she retired, he left too.

 **Q: Did Severus Snape find someone else after Minerva had died ?**

A: _(annoyed)_ You are assuming it was her who died first. Take another look at your history books.

 **Q: He died first? But she was so much older.**

A: There are other factors that determine when a person dies than their age. You ought to remember that he was a member of a crazy cult in his youth, a secret agent who was leading a double life for a long time and a potioneer who worked with many dangerous substances. That is all I can say.

 **Q: So was Minerva McGonagall his true love after all?**

A: True love? Is there any other kind? Love is what it is. I cannot answer this question any better than I already have. [ _pause_ ] Well, there is something I was meaning to give you if you promise to keep it safe until this story can be published when I have passed away and none of the first generation of students, the friends and classmates of Harry Potter, are around any more either. You see, none of my descendants are alive; none of my grandchildren had children; and all of them have gone before me. Neither Severus or Minerva had children and her brothers' descendants have taken no interest in a great aunt's story. You, however, are in a postion to see that these two are remembered properly. Just make sure that, should something happen to you, this will go to someone who will also keep it safe and only look at it or make it public when none of us older folks are around any more. It concerns a private matter and neither Severus nor Minerva would have wanted their contemporaries or their students to know of it. [ _pause, rustling sound, sound of something being placed on a table surface_ ] I will tell you what it is. When Severus was working for me, there was many a dangerous moment, and one day he sat down with me and told me about how Minerva had been upset by what his thoughts had been when he was nearly dying in the Shriecking Shack. He indicated that it would be unwise to leave these matters to chance because he could not be sure what the circumstances of his demise would eventually turn out to be. His end might occur sooner rather than later, as likely as not as a consequence of what we were doing. He did know, however, what he wanted to think about as he was dying, if he had any choice in the matter, and that he wanted Minerva to know what it was that he wanted to think of should he die. He handed me a phial. "I have looked at what is in this again, after extraction, so there are now two copies of this memory. Should this phial get damaged we can extract another copy, as long as I am still alive. But if you can, keep the phial safe, and give it to Minerva, should I die before her. Under no circumstances whatsoever are you to look at it yourself. Keep it safe and out of harm's way, and I will keep you safe and out of harm's way." I did and I kept it safe for so long that I had neary forgotten about its existence when Severus died. I was living abroad at the time, and the news did not reach me immediately. I was not able to travel immediately either, due to circumstances beyond my control, and when I was finally free to go a few months later and had remembered to get the phial, which I had left in yet another country, Minerva, too, had passed away. So I have kept it ever since because I do not think my friend's memories should be destroyed. However, I would also like to make sure that it is not seen by anyone who might have known him or her. You can decide what to include when you print the story as agreed. They were quite private people after all, despite their fame.

**Copy of Memory of Severus Snape (as handed over to the editor by Remus Lupin)**  
To be released in 2200. 

The man's feet are in water that is colder than on other days because the bora, or bura, as they call it here, has just been and gone. It is amazing to him how drastically the weather changes once a week, the lovely heat of the Mediterranean suddenly replaced by an angry storm that could be a sibling of the Atlantic storms they are used to in Scotland. It's a bit like what he has come to think of as their marriage for want of a better term, this summer here, mostly hot and gorgeous but interrupted by fierce storms. Both of them have a temper and when his or hers flares up things get heated and then an eruption happens that is followed by calm, a calm just like this lovely morning. He enjoys this holiday more than he thought he would when she decided that she was done with city breaks and needed another type of getaway this year. It is the first time in a while that he does not have to be on his guard all the time. She is with him and there is no need to hide their affection. Everything is so beautiful, the sea, the craggy limestone coast, the dark pine forests, the red earth; the food is delicious; the people are nice but not intrusive; their little bungalow is fine. He even enjoys cooking for Minerva and being cooked for by her. They even have a little competition going, which he is winning. Mackrel fresh out of the sea roasted in a pan in olive oil with a hint of garlic, served straight from the fire with the lovely white local bread for dunking the oil and juices, let her try and best that. He smiles and wades in a bit deeper. Let her wave at him to hurry up - he will take his time. She has called him a coward about this and they have laughed because all is well. He is a coward about this because he isn't stupid. Let her plunge into the cold water and get a heart-attack if she wants; he is fine doing things slowly. Which is nothing she ever complains about when they are in bed, so there.

He was slow about it last night when they were having sex while the heavy rain was hitting on their roof and their windows. The electricity had gone and they had lit a few candles. He remembers the salty taste of her skin and then her pussy, which he was licking as if she was a kitten and needed cleaning. When he was a teenaged boy his life would have been a lot easier had he known that for a man a long and crooked nose can be a distinct advantage when it comes to pleasuring someone he wants to pleasure. He loves how she has always her hands in his hair when he licks her pussy. Her hands always stroking him gently in the rhythm of his tongue, then grabbing him as he gets faster and pulling when she wants him to stop, turn on his back and let her ride him as if it was a Quidditch match and her team's success depended on his coming first. He loves to watch her breasts jump above his face and imagines sucking them. The storm had made her even more eager than usual and he enjoyed slowing her down a little by pulling her face down to his and letting their mouths and tongues do a little ritual of entry and withdrawal like a hot appetizer served in the middle of a six-course meal. He remembers how his tongue slid down until he reached her breast, which he circled slowly with his tongue, one after the other, and then sucks, while his hands glid down her back to her backside and up again to her waist. Finally he pushed her up and turned her around, until in one fell swoop, she landed on her back. She opened her legs and he entered her again. Their right hands met where her curly black hair protects her clitoris and both their thumbs were rubbbing it while he was pushing in and out of her. They both came, one shortly after the other. He stayed in her for a little longer and then pulled out, a quick cleaning spell taking care of any dampness that might be uncomfortable for either of them. They snuggled together to get their wind back for later, while the storm was still howling outside, the rain was hitting the roof and windows even more heavily than before and the glow of the candles filled the bedroom with a warm dim light.

He needs to hurry a bit to get into the water now since his memories are having a visible effect, which is all the more obvious since this site belongs to a nudist colony and they have forsworn wearing anything other than towels or a cardigan should they be cold for the summer. At least while they are on site; obviously not in town or on their trips along the coast. He is amazed how liberating this experience is, not to have to be hiding his body in clothes all the time. Their bodies are nothing to be ashamed of; they are good bodies and he has stopped caring that other people can see Minerva's because the protocol is that you do not stare and simply look at people's faces and, to his surprise, everybody does so. He still has to grin when he looks in the mirror or at Minerva because the combination of raggy lime coast and sea urchins means that they have to wear plastic sandals all the time. It's too funny, a naked man, wearing plastic sandals and nothing else. Minerva looks even funnier because she insists on wearing a sunhat and sunglasses except when she bathes, when she wears a green bathing cap that looks as if she had inherited it from her mother or grandmother. It is ridiculous how happy all this makes him.

Severus has finally managed to get submerged by the sea water and swims towards Minerva, who looks like she is starting to get cold. After they swim, they sunbathe, and eat some of their picnic, more white bread, tomatoes, local sausages and cheese, followed by peaches, grapes and biscuits. They have mineral water and a thermos of coffee. Later they might go back to their bungalow, put on some clothes and go for tea or even dinner in the village. Or they might have some tea in their bungalow, and maybe a little pre-dinner ride. They renew each other's sun protection, and because they have found a really private spot on the beach, fortified by various charms, they can fondle each other and kiss without anyone noticing. They read. They have a sunshade and the sea is nearby, so if it gets too hot they swim again, or lie under the sunshade, whose position they change as the day progresses and the sun wanders over the sky.

When she reads, Minerva puts her reading glasses on and pushes her sunglasses up, and when that fails because of her wide-brimmed hat, she places them on the hat. Or takes off her hat and pushes them up. Seeing her with two pairs of glasses is quite endearing, as well as funny. Minerva has brought several issues of that transfiguration journal she contributes to. He loves that face she makes when she is focused on something - and she is passionate about her subject. Her face was the best part of transfiguration classes when he was a student. He enjoys watching her facial expressions when she reads because he can read her responses so clearly: her face is quite stern and serious when she comes across something she disagrees with; there is a special expression she has when she reads something that is brilliant. He has caught her looking at him like that sometimes. While he has absolutely no idea why she would think of him that way, it makes him feel fuzzy and warm inside to think that she might appreciate him as much as her subject. 

Currently Minerva is looking puzzled. She looks up and sees him staring at her. She smiles at him. "Do you think transfiguration is unethical?" she asks and waves her journal at him so he knows that someone has written an article that says so. He takes time to consider this question seriously. "You could say that all magic is unethical," he says, "because we change the order of things. But who says that the order of things is not there to be changed." Then he adds, "I think, like most things, it just is. Whether it becomes ethical or unethical depends on what you do with it. Or fail to do with it."

Minerva has that look on her face again. Suddenly he feels deeply and unbelievably happy. Behind a backdrop of clear blue sky, her face is like a portrait that comes alive to him in a way it has never before. This is her: her black hair is showing the first strands of grey, some of it is falling into her face, the rest disappears in an untidy bun; her ears are beautifully shaped, with earlobes he loves nibbling when they have sex; her grey-green eyes with their little specks of brown are peering at him over her reading glasses; there are those eybrows, one of which is arching higher as he keeps staring at her, her straight nose and those unbelievably sexy lips, not too full and not too thin, whose slightly nervous energy causes a dimple to show up when she is about to smile but isn't quite yet. This is Minerva. And she is his. And he is hers. 

"What?" she asks looking back at him quizzically.

"Nothing", he says and leans over to kiss her. 


End file.
